Reaping a Death
by TenraiTsukiyomi
Summary: Harry didn't know what to expect upon coming to Tokyo, but it certainly wasn't the psychopath known as Arima Kishou. Crack fic. ArimaxHarry


**I don't even know anymore. As for the dead status of my stories, real life is shit. And my mind is blank. I have no other excuse and I think I will refrain from any more long-chaptered stories. So, sticking to one shots until im utterly free. Hear that, ONESHOTS, because I finally admit I suck with multiple long stories. **

**Also, this is crack. Attempt at crack. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Tokyo Ghoul or Harry Potter.**

* * *

When Harry chose Tokyo as his get-the-hell-away-from-the-magical-community sort of route, he already knew about the ghouls. They were practically blared across all the TV's of the goddamn necropolis, and despite all the pretty awful shit he heard about them, Harry is just... indifferent. He doesn't hate them, nor does he like them; they're, to him, the same as any mumbo jumbo specie of race in the world, like those magical creatures that keep popping babies after Luna, Hermione, Neville and his friends banded together.

In short, as long as he isn't bothered, Harry could care less over them.

* * *

Their eating habits? Yeah, Harry could see something bloody about it, but it was just that, eating. Eat to survive, hunt to survive, kill to survive; given the tight iron fist this CCG crap had on everything, that was pretty much the only option ghouls had. Harry wasn't as naive to think no ghouls ate for pleasure or simply because of the color and thrill of killing, but he isn't prejudiced as to scorn an entire race.

(Because Harry remembers Remus and Teddy, who he loves despite their werewolf traits. He remembers his friends, each unique in their own way, with their quirks and personalities and as magic as he is. He also remembers Magical England's wizards and witches, their greed and arrogance, and acknowledges he hates them as much as he hates Bellatrix, loathes them with all his being and wishes to see them burn.)

(Race does not decide what you feel.)

He wasn't as naive as to think he would never bump into a ghoul, or the crappy CCG who reminded him too much of the Aurors.

There's something wrong with everything when he DOES bump into one of either side, and they decide it's funny to keep badgering all day and weeks and months and **_fuck dammit_ **Harry was pissed.

Especially that Arima Kishou. Strongest Investigator ever, they said. The perfect example of a brave investigator, they said. The most powerful, noble, protector of humanity, they said.

Harry thinks he is a cold blooded murderer asshat, just like most CCG he has met. He meets Arima Kishou on a day, somehow, and the first thing he says is just that.

He isn't a ghoul, and there's no rule for speaking their minds, so Harry is 100% sure he is safe.

(It's not like he will die, anyway. Or be dead for too long.)

(Harry regrets ever saying anything to the Special Rank Investigator. If he knew it would lead to this, maybe he would've turned on his heel and high-tailed his ass to another country ASAP.)

By some fucking merlin-damned reason, after that, Arima Kishou now kept popping up every fucking day he wasn't on a mission, and Harry is horrified when Arima suddenly brought sobbing, beaten-to-an-inch-of-their-lives, but still alive, and lucid ghouls tied with RC reppressants to his door.

(Isn't there some fucking law against that?)

Harry just opened his door one day, and there he was, somehow managing to look emotionless and infuriatingly proud at the same time with the poor dudes bloody dirtying his carpet, as if saying "See I did not kill them." or some jackshit like that.

In that same proud-esque air of aloofness, Arima's glasses gleamed, and Harry did not need Legimency or a Seer to know it wouldn't be the last time.

He should say goodbye to his peaceful life, but Harry isn't about to let his life go.

Obviously, Harry tells Arima, in a steady, straight and definitely-not-livid voice, "You are _so_ going to be replacing that carpet."

He then slams the door right on his face.

* * *

Harry wonders if he should buy a ticket and just book it away... Like, away as in the farthest and deepest hole he could find.

But he had already went through so much lengths to hide from Magical England and he would be damned if he will let some random dude waltz up and destroy everything.

He finds soon that Arima Kishou is persistent, and strong, and definitely not an exhageration when you took his skills in mind.

He was also a complete idiot, because who the hell thought ghouls could be a perfect gift for people? And no matter how much Harry told him to go away, he just. wouldn't. leave.

Harry is looked at, again. But the stares now are disbelieving, fascinated, as if he was a never-seen extinct animal. Much stares are from the CCG, the investigators who appeared everywhere, but were eventually chased off by none other than Arima himself, and now do it more discreetly. There are also non-humans in the crowd, with disbelief and skepticism, and those ghouls that Arima keeps bringing to his doorstep; at least the arse didn't bloody everything anymore.

Obviously, an irritated Harry lets them off the moment he can, and throws them out before they blink with his magic.

By then, it's a routine to do that, and Harry knows he can't key Arima into the banish section, because it's impossible for someone of his skill to not break into a neighborhood, and Harry did not want to break any Oaths, or show his magic, or break his already broken image of normalcy.

(It's an excuse.)

Also, unknown to Harry, he becomes something of a legend in the ghoul community, because that's what he is when you take in account the involvement of the Reaper, who no one has survived encountering till the man appeared.

(Most ghoul unfortunate enough to catch Arima's eye, and fortunate enough to survive, have sworn off massacres altogether and many worship the figure that is their, ahem, _savior_.)

(Harry sneezed.)

* * *

First of all, Harry had planned to live peacefully for the next years in Tokyo, ocasionally bumping into the odd ghoul or investigator here and there, but otherwise just passing the days lounging in his couch, gorging his heart's content on treacle tarts deliciousness, visiting the wards and taking in the sites, or laughing at stories his friends told him from their respective job descriptions.

He did not anticipate the arse that now kept following him everywhere.

Wasn't Arima Kishou THE bloody Special Investigator of CCG? Didn't he have some missions or something?

Harry doesn't really know what makes Arima think he's so special, but he wishes he would stop bringing ghouls to his doorstep. He is annoyed when the ghouls turn out to be people he meets the next day in his wandering, and they act as if the world is ending.

(Ah, there's that four eyes Nishi-something and that guy with eye-burning sense of style... what was it? Tsujimisha? Tsumaya? Tsukijimura? Eh, whatever; though Harry was pissed at Arima when he brought a woman, who as he found the following day, had a daughter who looked frankly caught between horror, curiosity and all that jack. Mm. That eyepatched waiter called her Hi-something?)

(Harry bothers to try and remember their names, because he happens to stumble upon a cafe that had all of these people there, at once. Yeah,_ that_ bad was his luck, and he would've bothered to agonize over the pitiful excuse of mess that is thrown into his life again and again, but then the treacle tarts just _called_ him you know; how could he resist the way those delicious treats just sang for him to eat them?)

Now, Harry is irritated by Arima, and CCG, and everything in general, so he ignores them and goes on his merry way and devours treacle tarts like no tomorrow.

What? He wasn't obligated to report every shitty thing in his life. As long as they didn't go murdering every person in his sight, he was cool with them.

(Especially when their treacle tarts were better than many stores or cafe's out there. Especially that.)

* * *

His life is not peaceful, and plans do not turn out as he likes them to turn out, obviously. But Harry grudgingly admits he's gotten used to the Reaper.

It gets to a point where he's mortified to find he misses the little shite when he's away on a long-term mission (compared to his usual ones).

Arima somehow manages to look deadpan, emotionless, incredibly victorious and proud at the same time after the Reaper steals a kiss _(just... don't ask; the hardened veterans of CCG don't want to tread upon it)_, even though, the next several days, he sports a bruise on his cheek that looks suspiciously like a fist. It's something that doesn't dampen the Reaper's mood, but the CCG look to be on the verge of having heart attacks and breakdowns.

So, Harry has learned by now many things. Among them are some obvious facts of life.

1\. Powerful people were psycopaths.

2\. Arima Kishou was a psycopath and a damn arse.

3\. His dreams of peaceful life are ashes in the wind.

4\. He will have his sweet time taking his revenge.

In the 6th ward, the people around Harry are more than a little perturbed when he burst into mad laughter. He stops laughing when his stomach growls, decides it's a perfect time to visit his favorite ghoul-ishy cafe and their superb treacle tarts, and apparates when he is in an alleyway and out of people's range of view.

He is totally oblivious to the fact that, no mere 5 minutes later, ghouls in Aogiri cloaks descend from the sky and are confused to find their target missing.

Their confusion turn into terror when they smell a certain Reaper closing on their tail, fast.

He looks positively livid and murderous.

So, as those poor souls suffer under the mercy of the Reaper, Harry is gleefully chowing down numerious treacle tarts vigorously, while ghouls-in-disguise and humans stare and wonder if the axis in the world turned upside down without them knowing.

(The ghouls are not stupid enough to incur the wrath of the Reaper when it's obvious they've been spared.)

(In the end, Arima Kishou also finds a perfect way to woo Harry without involving blood and ghoulnapping; in other words, VIA treacle tarts of that little cafe, Anteiku. The ghouls don't know whether to be offended or relieved when their lives are worth as much as some icky, disgusting, vile-tasting treacle tarts.)

* * *

So, Harry supposes he maybe, just maybe, doesn't mind Arima and his honestly psycho way of thinking.

He sees Arima half-way from grocery shopping, groans, resists the urge to bang his head, and with an eye twitching furiously, says, "You better not have been thinking of bringing a ghoul to my house, again."

Arima pauses, glances at the knocked out blue-haired teen with RC reppresants, looks back at Harry, and nods. He is straight faced, and shameless, and totally unrepentant even though he just ghoulnapped some poor sod, again.

Harry just wishes to find the person thought it funny to give Arima the wonderful idea of capturing ghouls as a courting gift. He would show them a piece of his mind, goddammit.

* * *

**End. Fin. Final. Jieshu. Yaha. Ehem.**

**As I said, this is complete and utter crack, despite the fact that I love the tragedy in TG and burst into gross sobbing like any other gal/pal.**


End file.
